See You Later, Mom

On November 26, 2008, after a lengthy and courageous battle, mom quietly slipped away while surrounded by her loving family.

On the Thursday before she passed, I received a telephone call from my step-father because he had been in a minor car accident (no one was hurt) and he wanted me to come and get him and mom from the hospital (she was having a treatment) and then drive them both home. When I arrived, my step-father was still dealing with the police and waiting for a tow truck. I sat in the car for about an hour with mom, just chatting -- about nothing and about everything. I didn't know that would be my last real conversation with her. I've said it before and I will say it again and again, "Everything happens for a reason". What a gift I was given.

We had a Celebration of Life for mom at the Staircase. It seems most major events in my life take place there. My daughter told mom she would be a great-grandmother there. I've had various birthday parties there. I was married there. I celebrated my mom's life there.

I can't begin to guess how many songs I have sung at the Staircase. The first time mom heard me sing Cabaret, she told me that I had to sing that for her at her funeral. Of course, I told her I would do no such thing -- that would be inappropriate. She reminded me many times in the next few years of that wish. When the time came, I could not imagine standing in front of a roomful of people and singing Cabaret. I like the spotlight, but not that way. I did, however, find a compromise. I copied Liza Minelli's version to my iPod and printed 25 lyric sheets. We played the song and everyone sang along. Probably none louder than me, when I could. I know she heard it.

I also wrote something for my mom but was unable to read it at the celebration so Bear read it for me. I'd like to share it with you.

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I remember sitting next to my mom at various family weddings as I was growing up. She would groan and roll her eyes through just about every speech there was. Inevitably I would hear her mutter, “Oh my god. Let’s just get to the good stuff.” So, I won’t take too much of your time.

First, I need to explain that the ladybug is a symbol of my grandmother, it’s a symbol of my mother and I hope one day it will be my symbol.

When I was young, my mom taught me a little verse:

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

I was horrified. I asked mom why a ladybug, why anyone, would leave their children alone and at risk of danger. Mom explained that mothers couldn’t always be there for children. It was impossible. She said the important thing to remember was that moms might not be there all the time, but they were only ever a whispered “Mom, I need you” away.

And she was. I didn’t even have to whisper it and mom knew. I’d be feeling down about something and my phone would ring. “Kimberly, what’s wrong” and we’d talk.

She’s still there for me now.

When mom had her heart attack, I came home from the hospital in the early afternoon after spending most of the night with mom. I was exhausted but pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I walked into my kitchen and found a wooden ladybug lying in the middle of the floor. It had fallen off a pencil that was stuck on my fridge with a magnet. I took that ladybug into the bedroom with me, put it on my night table next to me and I slept.

Then, just last week, I was leaving work early to pick up mom’s ashes. I was weepy and dreaded going. My car is red and it has a ladybug vanity licence plate. I stopped at a stop light and saw a woman in my review mirror approaching my window. I put it down a bit and she said “Oh my god. A ladybug. How very perfect. How it suits you. All the best to you and your family.” And she walked away laughing and going on about my ladybug car. And I felt better.

Yeah. She’s there for me.

I had a lot of trouble writing these words until I remembered that when I was growing up, I was never allowed to say good-bye to my mom. If I did, she’d say “Don’t say good-bye. Say, see you later”.

So, I love you mom and I’ll see you later.

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I love you mom and I'll see you later.

Smoke and Mirrors

My mother was diagnosed the lung cancer a number of years ago. Seems hard to believe that you can put those words together in one sentence and then go on to say that she's still living. But she is. And I'm very, very grateful.

Easter Sunday, mom came to the house for an Easter Buffet (with the rest of our family). Mom wasn't feeling very well and said she had a touch of bronchitis. On Monday evening, my step-father called and said that mom had been taken to hospital because she had started coughing and could not get her breath. He said her oxygen levels were very low.

Tuesday morning I went to visit her. She was still in emergency because they didn't have a bed for her. While I was there, the lung specialist came in. He proceeded to give her royal what for because -- and this will be hard to believe but after 8 years with lung cancer -- my mother still smokes. Yeah. She smokes. Cigarettes. The very things that have given her a death sentence to begin with.

I found out two other very important things that morning.

1. My mother has COPD -- short for Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. It's cumulative and not curable. The most you can hope for is to slow it down and (sometimes) reverse its effects a little. The doctor said she could still live years with her cancer but she only had months with COPD if she continued to smoke.

2. My mother has been under the impression that she has lung cancer because cancer runs in her family. In her mind, cigarettes had nothing to do with it and she was going to get it any way. At least, that's what she told herself. I guess on some level it's easier to swallow than the knowledge that you signed your own death certificate.

We were all guilty of much the same thing. When mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, she made a good honest try to quit smoking. Then she slowly went back to it....pretty much with everyone's blessing. Our attitude was more of "Well, the damage is done now and she has so little else to look forward to and it's so hard to quit and and and and" so on and so on and so on. What none of us considered (or admitted to ourselves more like) was that she was speeding up the clock (or maybe running down the clock much quicker) by continuing to smoke.

She has quit. I threw away the cigarettes she had at the hospital. My step-father gave away the cigarettes she had at home and he cleaned and put away her ashtray. My brother (who usually picked up her cigarettes for her) has agreed that he will not do that any more.

She has quit. It may have been one of her joys in life and it may be the hardest thing for her to do. But I'm selfish. We're all selfish. Damn right I expect her to do it.

She has quit.

I'm not ready to say good-bye.

Mama's Magic Eyes

When I was young, it didn't matter what I did wrong in our neighbourhood, my mom found out about it. Even the simplest little thing. I'd be greeted with "Kimberly, how many times have I told you not to ......". Whenever I asked how she knew, she told me she had magic eyes and could see me wherever I was.

One of the rules I grew up with was that we always came home after school and then we could go to a friend's house to play. One day, I decided to just go to my friend's house. I felt a twinge of guilt because this was a house I didn't normally go to and it was two whole blocks away from my house....but I comforted myself with the knowledge that my mom could just use her magic eyes and find me and know I was okay.

Please believe me. I was not being smart or sarcastic or "getting back" at my mom. I was too young and hadn't yet honed that particular skill set yet. No, I truly, truly believed that my mother would know where I was.

Of course, she didn't. And she was furious with me when I walked in the door for dinner. Furious until I said those words, "But mom, why didn' t you use your magic eyes?"

And so ended the illusion. Mom fessed up. It was the neighbours who had been spilling the beans on me all along. Damn, nosy neighbours!

Stacked Deck

Sunday was Bob's 25th birthday. It's hard for me to believe that I have a son who is 25. I barely feel like I'm an adult at times.

Bob, his girlfriend Tiffany and my parents came over for dinner. The rest of the crew showed up after dinner for cake.

Bob loves performing slight of hand magic and he's very, very good at it. He's always amazing us with it, but especially my mother.

My mother brought a birthday present for Bob. But she also had something else for him....someone had given her a deck of cards and she immediately thought of Bob because a lot of his tricks are done with cards.

The cards all have naked people on them. To be more specific, they all contain naked MEN!

Dreams of Sugar Plums?

When my brother and I were younger, we watched a movie called "Trilogy of Terror". We missed the first two segments and were watching the third one about a little Zuni warrior doll that came to life when its belt came off. This thing terrorized Karen Black with it’s razor sharp teeth, and it’s huge butcher knife. Mom told us to turn it off but we begged her to let us watch. After we promised that we would go right to sleep, she gave in.

My brother and I went right to bed after watching the movie. The landing at the top of the stairs had a three foot by three foot landing with the bathroom at the head, my bedroom to the right, and my brother’s to the left. We sat in our bedroom doorways trying to convince each other that our various dolls and action figures weren’t coming to life in the dark. We were way too terrified to go to sleep.

Then, the hallway light came on, so we scooted into our respective beds. Mom came up and went into the bathroom. When she was done, she came out and I saw her crouch on the landing. She pulled a big ass butcher knife from behind her back. She plunged the knife into the carpet, and twisted it back out and up again. Plunged down, twisted out. Over and over. She opened her mouth into a wide evil grin showing us her razor sharp (plastic toy vampire) teeth and she said, "You kids go to sleep, or I’m going to get you".

Yeah, we screamed. Loud. And long. My brother practically climbed the wall he was so scared and I did my best to turn away from my mother while still trying to keep my eyes on her. Linda Blair would have been proud.

The surprising thing is that I still love scary movies. The scarier, the better. I guess it just makes me feel closer to mom.....

Witty Ditty

This is just one of the "nursery rhymes" my mother taught me:

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And said "give me some you bitch."

That's My Mama - Part II

I received a lovely wrap from The Perfect Man's sister for Christmas. It's lime green and anyone who knows me knows...I love lime green.

Once back at my house, my mother says, "It's a runner."

"What?" I asked.

"It's a runner. You can use it on your kitchen table".

We playfully argued for a bit because I was sure it was a wrap. However, I trusted my mom. She has more years on me and more wisdom about such things. Boxing Day dawned and I placed the "runner" on my kitchen table. I tried it this way and that, sideways, lengthwise, you name it. Nothing looked right. Then I noticed that I had the label facing up. I went to turn it yet again but stopped to actually read the label.

It said, "Pashmina". For those of you who don't know, a pashmina is .... a wrap.

That's My Mama

When my daughter announced at Christmas that she was pregnant and was due on the 23rd of June (her own birthday), my mother (the prospective great-grandmother) said "Keep your legs closed and hold out for mine". (Mom's birthday is June 24th.)